The Art of Being Alone
by RandomKiwi
Summary: Ever since the Sadie Hawkins Dance, Blaine Anderson's life has never been the same. Alone is all he's ever known. Can one equally troubled boy teach him how to cope, and possibly to believe that things can get better?
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Well, it's snowing and this just, well, happened. I'm on this blind!Blaine sort of kick… I have been for a while. I have certain phases in the fandom, or so it seems. This WILL be a multi-chapter fic. Please review. I know this deviates a bit from my other Klaine fics, but hopefully you like it! Reviews will definitely help me decide what I want to do in future chapters. Just a fair warning: This is AU. THIS MEANS THAT ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING IS *NOT* CANON. Sorry, guys. If you want completely canon, this isn't the right fic. Alright. Review, review, review! :D 3 xx  
~ RandomKiwi**

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Being blind wasn't easy. Oh no, it definitely didn't grant Blaine Anderson any benefits… Except for one. You see, the world is an ugly, disgusting place. Though it robbed the gift of sight from the 17 year old boy, Blaine does owe one word of thanks to it. By taking away his sight, he was spared the awful damage that others had to see… He didn't have to see himself after the accident. He didn't view the broken bones, the horrid bruises that littered his olive skin… He didn't have to see the silent tears rolling down his family's cheeks, or see the look of disdain and disgust that crossed his parent's faces every time their eyes happened to fall on him ever since the accident… Ever since the Sadie Hawkins Dance in his freshman year.

Being blind wasn't easy. No one said it would be. Despite all of his hardships, it seemed to make life a bit easier. He knew of the pitying looks; he could practically hear it in people's voices. He could pick up on the hushed whispers, the quiet, how-should-we-acts and what-should-we-says. Blaine knew of the worried looks, the confused and awkward glances as he'd walk by, white cane tapping softly in front of him.

He wasn't going to lie. He hated it; he hated being blind. He despised the pity and sympathy he got for something that he couldn't control. He wished people could treat him like a normal person, like how they treated him before his eyes became unseeing and his world became dark. Those who were close to him never quite reached that point.

The relentless bullying never ceased, even with his new disability. He was constantly pestered, shoved aside, tossed into dumpsters and kicked to the pavement. His cane was stolen at least twice a week, leaving the fifteen year old lost, scared, and vulnerable. No one bothered to step in and help the shivering blind boy. He supposed that was his only reassurance, his only constant. It was nice to know that some things never changed. At least, he kept telling himself, he could find comfort in one routine happening. Eventually, the bullying was all that came to define him. Students ran home to tell their parents and friends about, "The blind boy; the one who gets beat up all the time." It was quite comical, really, hearing their conversations as he passed. They knew he was hurt; they knew he was broken and slowly shattering under the pressure, yet they watched as if it was merely entertainment, as if it was a motion picture that they were intended to see in the theaters.

He couldn't quite place why, but Blaine laughed every day once he returned home to an empty house. He laughed and laughed and laughed until his stomach felt as though it might cave in from the pressure. Maybe it was because it was easier to laugh than to cry. At least he could trick himself into thinking he was happy, even if it was for a mere ten minutes or so. The laughter was forced, but at least it was there, permeating the silence to create the illusion that he wasn't alone… To trick him into believing that maybe, just maybe, things could get better. It never did last.

It was in his junior year that Blaine officially came out to his parents, over a takeout Chinese dinner on a Friday night. It took only a mere three minutes of discussion between his parents before the phone call was made. Three days later, Blaine was dropped off at Dalton Academy, an all boys school… And all boys _boarding school._ Yet again, Blaine Anderson was left undeniably alone. He couldn't help but wonder when this constant routine might choose to end. It didn't really matter, did it?

That day, Blaine was assigned to a dorm room. The Dean granted him a room to himself, explaining that his parents had filed a specific request. And – surprise, surprise – Blaine Anderson was alone once more. He stumbled over the furniture and over his own feet, desperately trying to become accustomed to the room. On the morning that his first day of classes would commence, he slipped in the shower. No one came to help him, for Blaine Anderson had no roommate. He had no friends.

_Surprise, surprise… Blaine Anderson was alone._

He was eventually able to pull himself out of the shower and stumble into his bedroom, groping around for his uniform. He put it on as best as he could, fumbling with his tie. He tried to gel his hair back, but ended up getting a plethora of the substance in his eyes.

That was the first time Blaine Anderson had cried since the accident. It had taken him two whole years to shed a single tear. Still, no one came to his aid. Why?

_Because surprise, surprise… Blaine Anderson was alone._

When no one talked to him over the course of the day, Blaine's sorrows began to envelope him. He began to wonder if his parents had instructed for others to not approach him, to make him feel isolated and impossibly secluded.

That night was the first time he talked to his parents in three days. He called them up, getting the answering machine at least three times. After the fourth ring, his father finally picked up.

"Dad?" he called softly, his voice laden with tears. He sniffled, unseeing eyes rimmed with red as they remained unfocused and glazed over. His father hung up without a single word.

Blaine couldn't help it. That night, he stayed up until the early hours of the morning, laughing softly to himself. He figured that maybe, just maybe, he could fool himself into thinking that things might get better.

They didn't.

Each morning he'd wake up, stumbling his way through his still unfamiliar room. He'd barely be able to shower without falling, muttering silent curse words as he spilled some sort of soap, shampoo, or conditioner into his mouth, eyes, or both. He'd try his best to make himself seem put together, dapper, composed… He was apparently a master of disguise. He was falling apart at the seams, but no one seemed to notice. Good, he thought. Maybe if he could trick them, he could begin to deceive himself. It shouldn't be so hard, especially when he was –surprise, surprise- alone.

But it was.

Halfway through his junior year, his parents called. It was the first time he'd spoken to anyone else in months. His father's voice was quiet and flat, void of emotion, as he explained the situation. Blaine was to be removed from Dalton Academy. The tuition was too high and the Andersons had, "better ways to spend their money than on an ungrateful, disappointment of a son." Blaine was to pack his bags and be ready to leave by the morning. A taxi was waiting for him in the parking lot the next day to take him to Lima, Ohio, to a family who had graciously agreed to accept him into their household at the Andersons request… The Hummels.

Blaine knew better than to hope for things to get better. He knew they wouldn't.

They arrived in front of the Hummel estate later that day. The driver eagerly kicked Blaine out of the cab, wishing him a halfhearted, 'nice day'. Blaine didn't bother to say anything back. The driver set his suitcase on the pavement and drove off, failing to let the blind boy know the whereabouts of his belongings. Blaine felt around aimlessly for his bag, letting out a huff of frustration when he couldn't locate it.

"Do you need help?" a soft, kind voice asked. A gentle hand was rested on Blaine's shoulder, though he didn't flinch like he usually would have done. Unlike those in his past, this touch was tender, sweet, feather light…

"I… Yeah… Sorry… My bag," he mumbled, ducking his head with embarrassment.

It seemed like the other boy detected his embarrassment, for he gave Blaine's shoulder a soft squeeze before picking up the suitcase. "Hey, it's fine." Blaine couldn't help but find the voice most soothing and comforting. It was clear that this person, whoever they were, wasn't going to hurt him.

And just like that, a hand wrapped around his, guiding him up the driveway towards the front door. For the first time, Blaine Anderson didn't feel lost, scared, or isolated.

_Surprise, surprise... Blaine Anderson truly **wasn't** alone._


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: This is basically Chapter 1 through Kurt's eyes with a bit of an extension towards the end. Of course, the whole fic is not going to be so repetitive. I just wanted to start the story on equal ground, and this is the way that I saw best fit. Chapter 3 and (possibly) Chapter 4 should be up by late tomorrow or early Saturday. My internet's been funny all night so we'll see. As usual, reviews make me happy and (just might) make me post faster. If I know you guys are liking it, I'll have more motivation to dish out writing. Feel free to provide criticism too. Feel free to drop by my tumblr ask ( ask) and leave some feedback, prompts, or suggestions. I don't bite! I hope you enjoy! **

**~ RandomKiwi**

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To say that Kurt Hummel was happy with himself would be stretching it. To say that he was happy with his _life_ would be a complete and utter lie. The high school senior had endured four years of absolute hell, all of which did nothing but degrade his sense of hope for the future. It was about halfway through his senior year at McKinley and all was going… well. Or so he told everyone else.

Sure, The New Directions had made it to Nationals and things were looking up in that aspect of his life. Rehearsals were always a bit lighter, what with the optimism that graced the group. There was no doubt that they'd win Nationals – they _had_ to. For the majority of them, this was their last chance to bring home that shining trophy and bring some sort of honor to their names before graduating and going their separate ways.

Kurt had been in Glee and even in the Cheerios for a while, but he'd never really made an impact on McKinley High. He'd never really made a difference in any of the students' lives, disregarding the fact that he provided the jocks with a laugh and a free punching bag, of course. Which was why, when his father brought up the fact that his mother's best friend's son would be staying with them for a while, Kurt felt a sense of hope… He finally had something to believe in.

In about an hour's discussion, Kurt had learned a few key things about Blaine. The most important was the fact that he was blind, though Kurt knew there was so much more to the other boy than that. Burt had elaborated to his son about Blaine's liking for music, pleasant attitude, and kind demeanor. Kurt found it curious though, how the Andersons were so well off but were still sending their son off to live with another family. Kurt began to question it, though his father said nothing. It wasn't for some sort of exile, right? Surely the Andersons wouldn't do that… His mother had been best friends with Anne-Marie Anderson, and though Kurt's memories of her were fleeting, she had seemed nice enough back then.

Kurt had spent all of the previous night rearranging and decorating the guest room, making sure everything looked flawless. He knew that Blaine wouldn't be able to see it, but it was the thought that counted and he'd feel awful if Blaine wasn't presented with the best they had to offer. Kurt was perfecting the last pillow – he'd rushed into the room early in the morning to finish – when the cab stopped in front of their house. He quickly flew down the stairs and exited the house, watching through sad eyes as the cab driver tossed the blind boy's bag to the side and sped off. He made it the rest of the way down the driveway, standing just behind the other boy.

Blaine was beautiful, positively gorgeous. With dark curls, olive skin, and a small yet muscular frame, he was definitely a feast for the eyes… Not that Kurt was thinking of him like that. He was still dressed in his Dalton uniform; it was clear that this change had been quite sudden and abrupt.

"Do you need help?" he asked softly, noticing the way the boy looked lost, scared, frightened… _alone_. He rested a gentle hand on Blaine's shoulder, his touch light against the fabric of Blaine's blazer.

"I… Yeah… Sorry… My bag," Blaine murmured quietly, ducking his head. It was almost as if he was embarrassed, ashamed of the fact that he couldn't see.

Kurt gave the other's shoulder a gentle reassuring squeeze. It seemed like he needed it. He then bent over and picked up the bag, which was angled oddly against the curb. It was no wonder the other couldn't find it; it had been thrown haphazardly in a direction he'd never have guessed to search in.

"Hey, it's fine," Kurt whispered softly, his voice what he hoped was somewhat comforting. He took Blaine's hand in his and guided him up the driveway, noting how the boy began to relax with his touch.

It was clear that Blaine Anderson needed a friend. Kurt would gladly give that to him.

Once they were inside, Kurt set Blaine's bag near the steps, gently guiding the blind boy into the house before turning to shut the door.

"Let's get you settled in the guest room, okay? I'm going to bring you up and then come back for your suitcase, alright?" Kurt ran the pad of his thumb over the back of Blaine's hand, a soothing gesture. The blind boy merely nodded, biting his lip.

"Okay. I trust you," he whispered. Kurt's heart seemed to soar at those three words… Blaine didn't know his name yet and he was already trusted… It made a soft smile grace the chestnut haired boy's lips as he carefully guided Blaine up the steps. He maintained a firm grip on the other's hand, letting him know that he wasn't going to leave him as Kurt suspected others had done in the past.

"Here we are," he whispered as they turned into the guest room. He gave Blaine a quick description of the room, leading him to the bed. "You can sit down now, sweetie." He couldn't help but use the term of affection. He knew Blaine needed it, and his suspicion was confirmed when the curly haired boy smiled. It was a ghost of one, but a smile all the same. Blaine perched on the edge of the bed, slipping off his shoes.

"Thank you…" he paused, not knowing the other's name.

"Kurt," he supplied softly, giving Blaine's hand a gentle squeeze. "My name is Kurt." Blaine could hear Kurt's light footsteps going back down the stairs to retrieve his suitcase.

_Kurt, Kurt, Kurt…_

He mouthed the name over and over, loving how natural and _right_ it felt on his lips. He whispered it a few times, blushing lightly at how perfect it sounded on his tongue.

_Kurt, Kurt, Kurt…_

Said boy now stood silently in the doorway, watching Blaine with a fond smile. He held the curly haired boy's suitcase in one hand as he leaned against the doorframe.

It was clear that Blaine Anderson needed a friend, someone to hold him close and wipe away his tears. Kurt would gladly give him that.

He'd give anything for Blaine to stop feeling so alone.


End file.
